Who Needs Roger Rabbit?
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: The story of Roger's adopted daughter trying to cope in the human world when she's been raised to understand toons.


Who needs Roger Rabbit?

(The Illustrious Crackpot)

In this world, people look at you kinda weird when you tell them that your father's a rabbit.

That's sort of understandable, though, because, hey, I don't even _look_ like a rabbit! I mean, I've got a humanoid's ears, and none of my teeth especially stick out. Any and all hair I've got is at the top of my head, sandy brown and short. I've also got glasses—whoever heard of a _rabbit_ needing _glasses?_—and I don't even have whiskers or a proper rabbit _nose!_

Actually, that makes some sense since Roger isn't really my _real_ father. He just found me near the outskirts of Toontown when I was a baby. When he'd told me the story on my eighth birthday, he'd bubbled, "You were just this itsy-bitsy tiny cute little girl with a _little_ p-p-p-patch of blanket on ya! At first I wondered, 'Who would leave such an adora-bubble little kid here? Maybe they wanna come back and get her.' But after waitin' for two days nobody showed up, so I took ya home!"

Even though I always have and will consider Roger my father forever, I was actually raised by Top Cat and his gang. It wasn't like Roger didn't want me—he would've sold off everything he owned to keep me—but he wanted me brought up properly and he just didn't have the resources or ability to give me the right family environment. The agreement, as I understand it, was that Top Cat and his gang would shelter and watch over me if Roger played with me and fed me and pretty much loved me.

Then after a few years, T.C. began to teach me how to survive in the streets and grow up with a handy mischievous streak, as well as how to outfox anyone I'd need to get away from. I learned pretty quick, but in a lot of cases I didn't really learn the right thing in the right _scenario_. Because of that, Roger gave me my name: Screwball. And I've been proud of it ever since.

When I grew old enough that Top Cat didn't really need to look after me any more, I moved in with Roger. He was completely overjoyed by it ("We're gonna have fun, and then have _more_ fun, and then have even _more_ fun..."), and I was happy too. I love Roger more than anything else in the world, even more than I could if he was my _real_ dad. And even though when I kept getting older he became sort of less of a father figure and more of a paternally-minded best pal, when someone asks me the name of my pop I tell them "Roger Rabbit".

This morning, like all mornings, my wake-up call came in the form of the clattering of pots and pans down in the kitchen. However, this isn't because breakfast is being prepared: Roger's _tripping over_ all the kitchen utensils he left out the night before. Every night he swears to me that he's going to remember that they're there when he wakes up, but it's still an inevitable morning occurrence that he's going to disturb them in some way, shape or form. The resulting cacophony is much more efficient than an alarm clock, and much kinder.

As clangs and crashes and the occasional exclamations of surprise resounded through the house, I opened my eyes and sprung out of bed. I stretched, blinked woozily and put on my glasses. There was something different about the noises today...realizing what it was, I smiled. Though the commotion happened day-to-day, I could tell by the still-yawning sun that it had come earlier than usual this morning. That could mean only one thing: the day had finally arrived.

Today, April first, I was now twelve years old.

I changed quickly into a t-shirt and trousers, then with a "Whoopee!" I ran out of my room to the landing outside. I didn't even slow down, but leapt straight onto the bannister and slid all the way downstairs. When the bannister ended I hit the bottom, folding like an accordion. Bouncing back up to my normal dimensions, I headed for the kitchen door—where I stopped short.

From inside the kitchen, Roger slid past the doorway at an extraordinarily high speed. All I could catch a glimpse of was his bright red cowlick and floppy ears trailing behind him. A few seconds later, he slid past the doorway again, waving to me this time. I tried to wave back, but with my being in the hall and him sliding at warp speed across the opposite room, he was out of sight. When he slid past again, he cupped his yellow-gloved hands around his mouth and shouted almost desperately, "It's a waxed floor!" before disappearing again with a cry of "Whaaaa!"

I smiled. So the floors had decided to wax themselves overnight. "Pop" might always have morning troubles in the kitchen, but it was always different trouble.

The next time he shot past, I grabbed him by the elbow to try to make him slow down. However, instead of its _intended_ effect, I was jerked into the kitchen right behind him and his speed only increased.

"Waaaah—aaah—aaah!"

In an attempt to slow and/or angle ourselves at the unwaxed hallway, Roger and I tried steering with our right feet. It almost worked, and Roger was halfway to shouting "Hooray!" when our half-circle turnaround became a _full_-circle turnaround and we just resumed the same course at an even _greater_ speed. Somehow we miraculously managed to avoid the frying pans and muffin tins and whatnot spinning at us, which was amazing since they were usually the _first_ to slam into us. I heaved a sigh of relief that was stopped short by Roger.

"THE WALL! _WE'RE GONNA HIT THE WALL!_"

With another "AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!", we tried everything possible (heck, even some stuff that was _im_possible) to stop, but it didn't work. Of course, we _were_ achieving speeds that Dexter would've liked to use in an experiment, so _that_ might've had something to do with it. The wall came closer and closer, and as we clung to each other with wild abandon—

_CRASH_.

Our rendezvous with the wall not only left _us_ slightly shaken, but the wall _itself_ too. With a hearty convulsion, a high shelf dislodged all of its nice, _porcelain_ plates on—you guessed it—the two of us. And let me tell you, it was a _big_ shelf.

When the cascade was over, I struggled to the top of the pile. Birds twittered over my head, but with a few shakes they left to nest somewhere else. Just a few feet to my right, Roger pulled himself ears first out of the kitchenware sea. "Well," he commented blearily, "That was_th_n't so bad."

Cue for the last plate to land square on his head.

I waded to him through the debris and hauled him up by the underarms. Roger smacked the side of his head a few times, then dusted off his white rabbit fur and red suspendered trousers. I straightened his blue-and-yellow polka-dot bowtie for him, and he grinned up at me. I smiled back. "Good morning, Pop."

Roger jumped into the air. "Ha-p-p-p-_ppy_ Birthday, Screwy!" he shouted, blowing a noisemaker and strapping on a party hat—neither of which had been there before. "Hoohoo! And what number is it this year?"

I hugged him. "Twelve, Pop!"

For a second I felt him freeze, but it happened so fast it might have been my imagination. And also, when Roger pushed me away to look me over, he seemed cheerful as ever.

"Twelve, huh?" he bubbled. "That's kinda'...a large number, right?"

Maybe he was being a little _too_ cheerful...I felt memories of my eighth birthday returning. Could...? _No way_, I told myself. _You're bein' paranoid, nothin's gonna happen_.

I didn't say a word about it as I helped Roger clean up the plates, and when Roger started whistling "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down", I just forgot about any doubting thoughts. Pretty soon we were singing improvised limericks to the tune. Crazy vocalizations, plates slid across a table by one only to be caught by the other, the sounds of neighbors throwing shoes to try to shut us up...It was one of those rare moments when, no matter what's going on around you, everything is perfect because you're with the one you love over life itself. That moment was _magic_, and I would never trade it for anything else in the world. Never.

Roger was in top form today, and took the next limerick.

"_We're as looney as can be,_

_No one's crazier than we_

_The folks all pray_

_Because they say,_

'_Thank God there isn't three!' "_

After that verse, our song was cut short by a shoe that made it through a _window_; it was high-heeled. To break the awkward silence, I asked Roger, "Sooo...what's the game plan_ this_ year, Pop? Where to?"

He beamed and puffed out his chest before exploding, "The Warner lot!"

"The Watertower?" He nodded. "Oh, Pop," I protested, "you didn't have to do that for _me_..."

Roger grabbed my hand from across the table. "It's your _day_, Screwy! I _wanted_ to do this for you!"

"Aw, Pop..."

He began hopping around the table towards me, but his foot slipped, he let go of my hand and the vicious waxed floor cycle started again faster than ever. I tried scrambling to his aid, but my foot slid too and I could do nothing except hope that my course led me back out to the hallway. Each on our own separate sliding paths, Roger and I individually smacked into just about everything that was still lying out, leaving any plate that had stayed intact earlier as a broken mess. The coup-de-gràce came when I actually crashed headlong into the table _itself_ and propelled _it_ ahead of _me_. Somehow or other I was able to scramble onto it, and the next time I passed Roger I scooped him onto the table by his long, floppy ears. As soon as he'd settled comfortably on the speeding table, he wiped away a bead of sweat and sighed. "Phew! Solid ground!" He patted me on the back, and I grinned embarrassedly at him. Something over his shoulder suddenly interested me, but I couldn't tell what and had only an inkling of why.

"Hey Pop, déjà vu."

Roger looked at me confusedly. "The raja of _what_ now?"

I shook my head, still bemused. "It means something is going to happen soon that happened before, but I can't think of what..." I paused. "Maybe if we try to remember what we did this morning..."

Roger was way ahead of me, ticking them off on his fingers. "Let's see, I got up, washed my skivvies, took a nice hot shower—"

"—got dressed, slid down the bannister—"

"—went into the kitchen to make breakfast and—"

"—went into the kitchen after you and—"

We simultaneously reached the same solution. "—and crashed...into..._THE WALL!_"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Somewhere between the combined mass of me, Roger and the table and the fact that we had probably broken the sound barrier (it was always a pain when we had to fix it afterwards), we smashed right _through_ the wall and straight outside. Our runaway table finally stopped when it hit a tree, and the fresh hole shaped like our silhouettes gaped in the side of the whitewashed villa. We just sat in the grass confused for a while, and then Roger offered, "Well, you always said we should open up the house a little."

Roger and I locked gazes for a moment, and then we both burst out with howling laughter. Even the most innocent of mornings is a new surprise when you have a family like mine.

**H**

That birthday was one of the best I'd ever celebrated throughout my entire existence. Every friend I'd ever had showed up—heck, even people I'd only ever seen for two seconds on a _bus_ had come. Acme Looniversity had canceled its classes, since it was obviously futile to try to keep everyone in school when it was both a Friday _and_ there was a party of this kind of magnitude going on. It looked like my birthday was the social get-together of the season; I mean, among such distinguished guests as Porky Pig, Wile E. Coyote, Tom Cat, Jerry Mouse, Huckleberry Hound, Lulu Moppet and Tubby Tomkins, you start to get the feeling that this was a huge show. It would have been embarrassing had there not been such a casual air about it.

The entire thing was held outside with the Watertower as the centerpiece. Right in front of the Tower had been constructed a sort of makeshift stage for the musicians: Yakko Warner was on lead guitar, his brother Wakko was doing drums and their sister Dot had the sax, accompanied by Felix the Cat on his trumpet, Mickey Mouse on piano, Goofy with his accordion, Snoopy with bass guitar and Charlie Brown on triangles. They performed all the classics, including "Powerhouse", "I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Tat", "Smile, Darn Ya Smile", "The Woody Woodpecker Song", "Fantasia" and, as always, "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down", with all vocals provided by José Carioca and Panchito. At regular intervals the singers were replaced by soloists, numbering (but not limited to) Tyrani of Mars, Plucky, Hamton, Barney Rubble, Pepé le Pew, Donald Duck, Garfield, Quickdraw McGraw—the latter four had to be dragged offstage—Buster Bunny and Babs Bunny. Also in attendance was my old mentor Top Cat with his whole gang, along with Pinky and Brain, Calvin and Hobbes, Huey, Dewey and Louie...if I could even _remember_ everyone who showed up, I could write another novel with all the names.

When it was happening it seemed to last forever, but now all of it is like a blur to me. At least until evening showed up, which was when Bugs wheeled the massive cake out to the ocean-sized cluster of tables that had been set up—the cake promptly exploded, blasting Daffy Duck out of it and into the air with a cry of "Woohoohoo!"

It was about right then that I noticed people looking at me weirdly. I didn't understand why, but it seemed like everyone had suddenly had their happiness sucked out of them. Not a single grinning face looked out of the hundreds that were now staring almost fixedly at me. When I looked back at them they averted their eyes, as if they were ashamed of looking, but always their gaze returned to me.

It worried me.

Highly unsettled, I forced an uncertain smile. "Um...nice weather we're having, isn't it? I mean, perfect weather for the outdoors and all."

Dead silence answered me.

Even the sun had stopped grinning, and didn't even come out from behind the clouds at the mention of "nice weather". That wasn't good.

I tried again. "Hey, what's with all the frowns?" I joked. "Is there an anvil hanging over my head or something?"

Nobody moved or even breathed, especially not me. A good-sized knot formed in my stomach. What was going on?

Very slowly, Roger stood up and pushed his chair away from his. He was trembling, and was staring with large, troubled blue eyes at a point on the ground just in front of my feet. I saw no one but him. He took a deep breath and started fiddling with his gloved hands, until finally he began in a small voice, "Screwy...do you remember your eighth birthday, when I told you...that I w-wasn't your real father?"

I nodded as my throat closed up in unknowing fear.

Roger was shaking even more now, and leaned against a nearby empty table to support himself. Unfortunately, he was shaking so much that the table started vibrating and actually fell over, breaking one of the table settings with a sharp _tinkle_. It would have been funny if I wasn't concerned with the seriousness of the situation.

Trembling regardless, Roger instead stood as erect as possible and continued, taking short, gasping breaths. "Screwy, I...left something out that time. I—You—" He stopped suddenly and looked at his hands again, as if something about his gloves was much less worrying than me. Roger took a deeper breath and started a different way. "Scr-Screwy, do...do you remember, when you were p-p-p-pretty little, you asked p-p-p-plenty of p-p-p-people, then me, about why you're the only p-p-p-person in town who has birthdays? And why you were the...the only p-p-p-p-p-p—one who got bigger? And I told you it was...because you were special?"

I froze up. He hurried on even though I wouldn't have been able to answer anyways. "Screw-Screwy...it-it's true, you are spe-sp-special, but you're also special...different." Roger just breathed in and out for a few moments through his nose. I still remember how his pink button snooter twitched, moving his wire-thin whiskers all around. Suddenly, so quickly I couldn't at first react, he blurted out, "It's because you're not _like_ us—you're not a toon!"

My entire world fell to pieces around me.

**e**

I might have blacked out, but in my mind's eye these two scenes connect almost seamlessly. In no time at all, Roger was leaning over my chair. His ears were severely drooping, and he seemed worried. "Screwy—are you—"

I snapped away from him as he outstretched an arm. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" My chair clattered to the ground of what just seconds ago had been an exuberant party. My eyes pricked with water, and not because of the violent stormclouds crowding the sky. "You _lied_ to me. For _twelve years_." I swept a tear-stricken glare across the faces of all present. "_All_ of you. You were all in on this, and nobody _told_ me what I _really_ was."

Even Black Pete's eyes were downcast. Poindexter stood up from somewhere on my left and adjusted his glasses. "But that would be _impossible!_" he protested. "We didn't, and still don't, know exactly what you were—are—so we _couldn't_ have told you!"

Lola Bunny got up from another table and put her hands on her hips. "Poinsy's right, Screws," she admonished tightly. "You shouldn't blame us for not telling you before. Nothing like this has ever _happened_ in the entire _history_ of Toontown!" She glared accusingly at me, then pointed to Roger. "That rabbit over there took you in regardless of _what_ you were, because he _cared_ about a little half-starved, defenseless baby with no mother or father in sight! And _this_ is how you're treating him now?"

No one moved. Everyone was waiting for what I'd do next. _I'm not a toon_. How could I forgive them that easily for all this? _I'm not a toon_._ I'm not a toon_._ I'm not a toon_.

Roger raised his eyes to mine in an almost pleading gesture. "Screwy, I..." he started, stuck for words, "I thought I was p-p-p-_protecting_ you...that's why I to-told everyone to treat you like a t-t-toon. I thought you'd p-p-p-probably accept it once you were older, that as your father—"

_Father_. "YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!" I shouted. "MY REAL FATHER WOULD NEVER LIE TO ME LIKE THAT! _YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!_"

I turned and _ran_. From what I couldn't tell, towards what I couldn't decide. I couldn't see anything for the clouded jumble in my brain, couldn't hear anything except my heartbeat, and soon something else: a wail. A long, haunting, sobbing wail that can only be compared to the sound a mother makes when she has lost her child. It consisted of only one word—my name. Screwy.

But I didn't stop. Even with my eyes shut, my feet knew exactly where they were heading. It was a path used many times in my formative years. It was the way to my old home, Top Cat's first (but not last) alley base.

I only slowed down when I recognized the wall. At the back of the alley was an old brick barrier almost to my height where T.C. had sworn in all his comrades—me included. I leaned against it and breathed hard. My face was still wet.

The sky was still cloudy and dark, but was rapidly turning even blacker. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. Toontown's weather, when not sunny, obeyed two factors: season and mood. Even being April, there must have been some real depression in the air to create such a violent, stormy atmosphere.

I had to wipe my glasses on my pants before putting them back on. I was wearing bright red trousers with suspenders of the same color, fastened with large yellow buttons. On a sudden realization I stared at them. They were exactly the same as Roger's pants, down to the same patches and even the same cuffs on the much-too-long pant legs. I hurriedly uncuffed them and sat down on the pavement, my back against the rough but inviting brick of the wall. _Don't think of Roger_._ Please don't think of Roger_.

A little rain started drizzling down, but I hardly noticed it. I hugged my legs up against me to try to stay warm, almost absent-mindedly doodling on my trousers with my finger. When I finally looked to see what I was doing, I realized I'd written "Pop" into every crease of my pants. I hurriedly smoothed it out.

I don't know how long it was that I sat there, but at some point I heard a sort of scrabbling from the other side of the wall behind me. Looking straight up, I waited with a racing heart. In only a few seconds' time, I could sort of see two pairs of eyes staring down at me from the top of the wall. Upon noticing me, one of the pairs' owners bubbled excitedly, "We find her, Chip! We find her!"

Another scrabble and a lighted match was produced, illuminating the area about two feet all around. In the flickering light I could discern the figures of two chipmunks, one the button-nosed and immaculately groomed Chip and the other the slightly more ruffled Dale. They were pointing jubilantly at me and grinning so widely you could've fit an entire watermelon into each of their mouths. My eyes narrowed and I asked, a bit harshly, I'll admit, "What do you want?"

Whatever their reception, neither chipmunk's cheer was diminished at all. "We told to find you," Chip chittered happily, "and we find you!"

"You come back with us now," continued Dale. His eyelids were usually lowered to half-mast, but his excitement was so great that his eyes were fully open. "Then you go home and things will patchy up with father!"

My heart twanged almost painfully. Dale's nose was exactly like Roger's, just the right proportion and the exact right shade of pink. My brain, however, was taking charge and it really didn't give a darn. "Yeah, I'll just head home and pretend nothing's happened after _he_ and the _rest_ of the town lied to me since I was old enough to understand _anything!_"

Chipmunks, as I learned that night, aren't very good at recognizing sarcasm. "That the general plan," they chorused.

I became livid. "Can't you _comprehend_ this? Because I'm not a toon, my entire _existence_ is a _lie!_ And it's _his fault!_ That's rabbits for you, they'll _multiply_ any number you choose but wouldn't level with you if you went to them bearing _carrots!_"

For the first time in the conversation, the two looked worried rather than joyful. Chip's high voice almost cracked as he answered. "Roger _miss_ you, Screwsy. He really in bad shape since party ended."

"_Everyone_ want you to come back. They upset. They worried something will happen to you."

More anger boiled up inside of me. "_Worried_, huh?" I shot back. Those bleeding toons, they had tricked me about who I was, kept it from me a dozen years and then act like they _care_ what happens to me! I wasn't about to associate with a kind like theirs any longer. I'd made up my mind, and so doing mounted the wall some ways from Chip and Dale. "Well then, if they're so _worried_, you can tell them I'll be fine. I'm just taking a vacation. A _permanent_ one." The two chipmunks stared, baffled and confused. I elaborated for their edification. "I don't think I'll stick around this pack of deceitful liers anymore. I'm going to find out where I came from and go there. _Anywhere_ is better than _here_, and I know my way out."

Dale's face drained of all color. "No..." he gasped in realization. "You not going to—"

We all knew what he was going to say, so I finished for him. "That's right. I'm hopping the Toontown border, and _no one_ can stop me!"

I bolted again, leaving a cloud of dust behind me. Even if those two hadn't been stunned to stiffness they'd have found it hard to keep up, much less alert the entire toon community. I made straight for the outskirts of town, heading to it with the characteristic runaway's single-mindedness. At last I reached the huge wooden barrier separating Toontown from whatever else was out there—but there I stopped. Could I really...did I _really_ have the nerve to actually _leave_ Toontown?

Suddenly I felt a weight, like something had dropped into my pants pocket. I glanced down, but the lighting was too dim to see what it could have been. I shrugged it off. _The birds must have unusually good aim tonight_.

Feeling my hand on something, I looked up. I had been involuntarily leaning on one of the posts in the barrier. I removed my hand—and froze. I knew this wooden post. I ran my fingers across the length of it with poorly suppressed anxiety, and finally found it: a clumsy inscription with a rusted nail, reading "R.R.—found baby—4/1". Roger had brought me here when I turned eight, the location where he'd discovered sleeping baby me. _DISCOVERED_..._discovered_..._discovered_...

I shut my eyes and jumped over the wall.

**a**

In the physical sense, traveling got easier once I left Toontown. The landscape was _completely_ and _utterly flat_. No trees, no bushes, no rocks, no _nothin'_ except for the huge fenced-in city behind me. I ran, even though walking would have served just as well; no toon _ever_, and I repeat _ever,_ crossed the border and left Toontown. Sure, all the kids dare each other to jump onto the wall and touch down on the other side, but it's never taken seriously and they don't even get as far as the _wall_. Toons fear the outside world, and even though the point is never brought up so bluntly everyone knows it's true. They just assert it as the fact that they're fine where they are and don't need to explore a separate world.

By the time my opening momentum ran out, nothing in the landscape had changed except that I could no longer see the city behind me. A heavy mist congregated everywhere I looked, and pretty soon it was getting hard to see even my own hands. At some point I heard a yawn, but I couldn't tell whether it was me who'd yawned or my imagination playing games with me. I couldn't tell much of anything for a while, as if the faceless mist had infiltrated my head too. Memories blurred and blended with thoughts, and even though I was sure several hours had passed I wasn't even hungry.

My feet were starting to drag when the mist lifted and the town just sort of faded in around me. It was a suburb not totally unlike Toontown. Apartment buildings, condos, rest homes—this place had _everything_ the old town had. It was still dark out, but sight was easy since the entire place was lit up like a Christmas tree. I looked up, confused, but there were no stars out. Just electronic lights everywhere: neon signs, the flickering glare of a TV in a window, a dim bulb outside an all-hours shop...

_In Toontown_, I thought, _there are always stars_._ They're all you need to brighten a dreary night_.

Without even realizing it, I began to sing softly.

"_When you wish upon a star,_

_Makes no difference who you are_.

_Anything your heart desires_

_Will come to you_._"_

Suddenly I stopped short in alarm. I could have sworn I had heard another voice besides mine, but when I looked around there wasn't another person in the area. Hesitantly, I was about to start again from the chorus when the song died in my throat; this was one of Roger's favorite songs. We had five records of it because they kept wearing out from overuse. I clamped my mouth shut and moved on.

Twin barrels of light spontaneously exploded into my line of vision, and I shaded my eyes and squinted. The accompanying roar of a car's engine made me smile. "Hi there!" I called out, and waved. I was surprised when the car didn't hoist a tire and wave back. Well, maybe it couldn't see me through the glare of its headlights. It was a sleek mover, with no shakes or bumps, but it wasn't a limo. Cars usually had more personality unless they belonged to a rich brat. I just stood there in the middle of the street. _It ought to see me at some point, and then maybe it'll tell me what things are like here_.

I waved again, but the car whooshed past me without a word. "Hey!" I shouted to its receding back. "What're you, antisocial or something?"

The car still didn't answer. I shook my head irritably. Now, my good friend Benny the Cab for instance, he never _quit_ talking. He was loud, sarcastic, and could scare a cat down to its last life on a single joyride, but he was always nice and didn't charge anything for passage. I started to laugh. Boy, Benny, what fun we had! There was that one time when he and I—

I slapped myself upside the jaw and my head quivered from side to side like a gong. No remembering. I was gone from that place for good.

Without any warning I heaved a mighty yawn. This new place was tiring. I could see it in the morning. My feet, useful critters that they were, steered me right to a cozy alleyway by the side of the road. I walked right in, and got another surprise as I stepped right into a good-sized puddle. I withdrew my foot and opened my eyes. The whole _gap_ was damp and dreary, not cheerful or even _dry_. Some hospitality!

I inhaled a mighty gust and blew out, splashing most of the water out into the street. Squatting down and putting my hand to the ground, I found that it was still sort of damp. Oh well, it'd do for now. I lied down and curled into a ball, staring wearily at the street. Another car went by, this one mute too. It was so strange, this place...indifferent autos, no stars, and uncomfortable back alleys...maybe _this_ was why Toontown walled itself in and refused to go outside...

I fell asleep to someone humming the rest of "When You Wish Upon a Star".

**r**

_Poke, poke_. "Zzzzz..."_ Poke poke poke_. "Zzzzzzz..." _Poke poke poke poke poke poke POKE_. "Zzzzzzz..."

" 'Ey, you. What's all this then?"

I only really woke up when a shadow loomed into my early-morning light. Opening my eyes, I sat up slowly and squinted. I knew the silhouette of a police officer too well from my formative years, so there was no question of whether this was Granny or not. _Officer Dibble? Was hopping the border and seeing that weird place all just a dream sequence?_

No. Looking harder, I saw too many differences. This guy looked like...like _me_. He had a humanoid nose, ears, mouth and other features like me, and our proportions were the same. That is to say, he was no Elmer Fudd in cops' clothing. I'd never seen a humanoid that _tall_ before, and...he had _five_—count 'em, _five_—fingers. Like me.

I couldn't help it—I stared. But he stared right back with a sort of a cold, calculating glare. I was kinda taken aback by that too. Officer Dibble used to get angry, but he never looked heartless like this.

"You," the cop grunted again. "What're you doing there?"

I flashed an impish grin. I was back in my childhood with law enforcers. "Sleeping."

His eyes narrowed. "I can _see_ that."

"Then why'd ya have ta' ask?"

The cop bristled. "You're not allowed to sleep there!" he commanded, brandishing a club at me.

Alley Cats technique #42: Think like a lawyer. Bring up enough right-sounding arguments and your assailant will agree with you in temporary confusion. "This's public property, and I'm part of the public, so I'm legally allowed to sleep on my own public property," I elaborated. "Isn't that reasonable? You're not against free _ownership_, are you, officer? No, you couldn't be, you look too _smart_ for that..."

That sort of response would have sent Dibble reeling, same with Ralph, but this stranger didn't even bat an eyelid. "Look, kid," he hissed through gritted teeth, "it's early, I'm tired, and I don't want to have to deal with this. Now if you'll just come to the station like a nice little civilian—"

I think my left suspender quivered, but it could have been my imagination. I laughed out loud. " 'Civilian'? _Me?_ I'll have you know I was reared and raised in the alleys, and at this point I don't think we can cure _that!_" Still laughing, I ducked below his widely-spread legs and dashed into the heavy traffic. Admittedly the cars _did_ grind to a halt when I passed in front of them, but that's as courteous as they got. None of them even struck up a conversation. When I got to the other side of the street, I waved condescendingly to the finally-dumbstruck policeman and razzed in his general direction before taking off again.

It was about two blocks later when I slowed down in awe of all that was around me. The first things I noticed were the crowding and the noise: there was a heck of a lot of both. You couldn't walk anywhere without brushing against somebody, and the air was _full _of a mindless cacophony. Back in Toontown, there was plenty of racket as well, but it was _nice_ noise, the friendliness of perfect strangers exchanging greetings on the sidewalk. Aside from the Tasmanian Devil getting loose again or Popeye having it out with Bluto, the sound was all good. But here it was the beeps and whirs of tiny little machines and car horns. These people didn't even say "hello" when you passed them, they just hurried right on.

Even standing on my tiptoes I couldn't see much, so I took a running leap onto the awning hanging over a grocery store. I must've been getting a little out of shape, because I didn't quite make it all the way when I jumped. After a bit of scrambling, I clawed the lower half of my body up onto the canopy, stood up and took a good look around. There was something drastically different here besides the people looking like me...but what was it?

Finally I realized it. All the people here were human with not so much as a _hint_ of any other species around. This was an outrage! I'd wanted to live alongside people like me, but without any other _normal _kinds of folks! What's life without the cat- and bird- and all the other sides of the population? I had to find out what had happened with them.

Hopping down from the awning, I spotted a man who didn't look too busy and headed directly towards him. His skin was the same color as a Junior Woodchuck's cap, dark brown. He also had glasses like me, but instead of circular lenses his were like a pair of square plastic goggles. About the same height as my police officer from before, he had on a bright yellow-green vest and was directing traffic.

"Hey mister," I asked as soon as I got close enough, "what's up with this?"

The man turned around and looked at me rather oddly. "What's up with what?" he replied back. He looked me over. "Red overalls on a white t-shirt...is that the new style they're wearing today?"

I got sort of confused at that point. Who was this "they" he meant? I tried for the best answer I could. "Well, it's what I've been wearing for years." In my mind I suppressed the last part: _"Ever since I started to live with Roger_..._"_

The guy shrugged, and looked me over again. "Nice shoes," he commented, and pointed to my feet. "Where'd you get them? They look just like...whatsisname...Marvin the Martian's."

I looked down myself and wiggled my toes inside my shoes. "Yeah. Marv gave those to me since I was such a good sport, walking K-9 for him and helping him build those laser-death-beam things, you know, the ones that say 'some assembly required' and then blow up if you leave out too many pieces."

I was given that funny look again, but he just shrugged for the second time. "So, what was it you wanted to know?" he asked.

"Oh yeah!" I nearly smacked myself on the head for forgetting. "Sir," I asked, "why are there only humans around? Where're all the hippopotamuses and vultures and ducks and mooses and penguins and—and everyone else?"

Either this guy was crazy or I was, since he gave me that funny look _again_. "You mean, _here?_ What makes you think they'd all be walking the streets or something?"

I got really mad then. "Whaddaya mean, _'What makes you think they'd be walking the streets_'! They're people too! IS THIS A RACIST COMMUNITY?"

If he gave me another one of those looks I'd go berserk. "Now calm down," he commanded. "I think what _you're_ looking for is the _zoo_."

_Zoo? What's a zoo? Is it a town?_ "Where is this 'zoo'?" I asked.

He jerked his thumb at a nearby intersection. "Turn right there, then go forward for about four blocks. After that just follow the signs." He fished around in his pants pocket and at length pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Handing it to me, he said, "Take this ticket. I bought it for my grandson, but he's sick today and I don't want it to go to waste."

I grabbed the ticket and beamed. "Thank you, sir!"

And faster than a pic-a-nic basket disappears down Yogi Bear's gullet, I was inside my first "zoo".

**t**

When I gave the ticket lady my pass, I got a map in return. It looked like a maze, with this tiny little red "x" in the corner saying "You are here." I scoffed. "Of _course_ I'm here, you silly map. Where else would I be?" I insisted.

The map didn't reply.

I tried again. "Could you tell me how to get around in here?"

A bunch of old ladies stopped and stared at me before hurrying past. I stuck my tongue out at their backs before looking at the map again. It was as silent as all the cars I'd come across in this town. I sighed, shoved it in my pocket and explored on my own.

I didn't know whether it was destiny, fate, or some other mystical shishkebab, but the first spot I encountered in the maze was the rabbits' complex. It was _awful_. Not only were they fenced in with these tiny little houses to live in, the rabbits didn't _look_ right! I mean, yeah, the ears were correct as well as the whiskers, the noses were just fine, the tails were perfect and their feet were passable, but the rest was all _wrong!_ My own _foot_ was bigger than they were! They hopped everywhere on all fours and never once stood erect! FOR PETE'S SAKE, THEY DIDN'T HAVE _THUMBS!_ What _were_ these pitiful excuses for a species, and even though they were miserable little things why were they fenced in by themselves instead of roaming the streets with everyone else? Maybe they refused to talk, but _they had rights!_

I was on the verge of screaming about racism again when I felt like I was being watched. Looking down, there was a little white rabbit with blue eyes staring up at me.

I left the rabbits _fast_.

The rest of it was equally horrible. All the other species were as unrecognizably deformed as the rabbits, and people were _pointing_ at them, making comments. And their victims weren't even a dynamite-toss _away!_ JERKS!

I really snapped, though, when the creature in question was a—and I quote—"North American Grizzly Bear". There was this little kid who was poking her ice cream at the poor guy, who kept trying to grab it even though his paws couldn't reach through the bars of his cage—hear that?—_cage_. Not to mention that the _cage_ was a nice distance from the _fence_, directly beyond which this kid and her ice cream were standing.

I lost it completely this time. My face boiled red and steam shot out of my ears. In a tremendous leap I grabbed the little girl's ice cream and jumped straight over the twelve-foot-high fence. Now, let me tell you, I'd normally _never_ take _anything_ from someone smaller than me (T.C. taught me to steal from big guys), but I'd been provoked. The devil mini-me had taken over.

While running toward the bear's cage, I shot a backward glance at the girl whose ice cream I had taken. If she was crying, I'd never forgive myself. But surprisingly, there were no tears on her face; just a look of complete astonishment. Then she smiled, giggled, and started laughing and clapping. My head was a turmoil of utter confusion. What was happening that was so entertaining? Most toon kids only reacted that way to Roger or Goofy putting on a show. Those two loved kids and, mostly accidentally, always managed to elicit some form of mirth. Could I have possibly inherited some form of this from growing up with them?

Before I could either answer or scold myself, I slammed into the bars of the cage. As my body wobbled and vibrated from the shock, I heard even more laughing. Hobbling around, I saw several more kids joining my ice cream girl at the fence. They were all pointing and laughing—but it wasn't _bad_. I was funny. They _liked_ me. I struck another pose to a second round of giggles and applause. I was grinning too. This was _fun_.

I almost forgot about my mission until I felt the ice cream melting in my hand. So, taking one last look at my audience, I turned back to the cage to offer the treat to the bear, sugar first. Usually small bars were no problem for me, but some of these wires were crisscrossed so I had to squeeze a little more to slip through them into the cage.

Once inside, I put my best face forward (I have many) and extended a hand to my four-footed kinsman. Like all the others he refused to talk, but he _did_ at least sniff my hand. I rubbed him behind the ears, and I swear he smiled. For once in this new world I felt good. They may be two different bears, but Boo-boo was fond of the same thing as my new pal.

"Hey! What're you doing in there?"

I turned at the sound of this new voice, and saw a man standing beyond the bars of the cage. He was older than me, but didn't seem to be by too much, and I bet he was only about an inch or so taller. His nose tapered to a point like a good pencil, and he had a cap and vest proclaiming him to be a "zoo official".

"What'm I doing in where?" I asked mischievously, feeling as I had with the policeman.

The guy seemed really frantic. "Get out of there now!" he cried. "I don't recognize it from anywhere, but if that's a school uniform I don't want them suing us for damages!"

Talk was hard to follow in this place. "What school would have a _uniform_?" I questioned almost tauntingly. "Acme Looniversity lets us wear anything we want to—take Dizzy for example: he only wears a propeller beanie, and no one cares! And who is this 'Sue' anyways, and what would she be doing to me?"

The guy didn't even seem to hear me. He just kept panicking and exchanging glances between me and the bear. My friend started snarling and showing his teeth at the "zoo official". The guy yelped. "See that?" he blathered fearfully. "That is a hostile wild animal! I don't know how you got in, but leave now!"

I scratched the bear again and looked quizzically at the zoo guy. "Why? This bear's nice, and I like him. What does 'hostile' mean?"

He was even more nervous now. "C'mon, just get out of there before he attacks you," he pleaded, "and then I'll lock him up again _nice_ and _safe_, and he won't hurt anyone."

"Don't you know _anything!_" I yelled, losing my temper again. "Locking those guys up, maybe not even _feeding_ them, of _course_ they're mad at you! They need to roam free and be socially accepted!" I had worked up a pretty good rant by now. "Ranger Smith has his natural park, Mr. Peebles has his pet shop and, now that I think of it, Mr. Twiddle has a 'zoo' too! But they didn't lock up everyone, they're like hotels! Sure, Mr. Twiddle has to drag Wally back home sometimes, but none of them are _cruel_!"

The zoo guy stared at me so incredulously I thought his eyes would pop out of his skull. Without any regard to this unknowing jerk, I picked up the near-forgotten ice cream, gave it to the bear and turned to him. "Do you have a name?"

The bear grunted. I took it as a "No".

"Then how about...Robert?" I was about to say "Roger" but stopped myself just in time.

The bear made that grin again, and I smiled. "OK then, Robert," I proclaimed, "we're blowing this taco stand!"

Reaching through the bars, I fiddled with the padlock and swung the door open. Bellowing with happiness, Robert charged out in the direction of the fence. I climbed onto his back as he passed me and instructed, "Do what you want, but leave the little kids alone, OK?"

I don't know if he heard me, but true to my words Robert didn't even come near the younger ones after he barreled straight through the fence. He had a delightful time panicking the adults, though, snapping at them playfully and snuffling. As he passed the other cages, I flicked those open and let out the occupants. Most of the freed prisoners scattered in all directions, but some of them followed in the wake of me and Robert. By the time I pulled the lock on the rabbit hutches, a red light had started off a flashing siren across the entire zoo. "Prison break!" I shouted, and dismounted from Robert. "Can you hear me?" I asked him.

"Grurf."

I smiled. "Get all these guys out of here and run as fast as you can. Make sure they don't catch you, or it's back to four walls and discrimination."

That was enough motivation for him. With a happy roar, Robert thundered away with a flock of wild birds and antelope at his heels. Raising my fist, I cried, "A STRIKE AGAINST RACISM!" And I ran as quick as my legs could carry me.

**-**

It was about noon after I liberated all the prisoners, so I hopped over the back wall of the zoo in search of something to eat. I headed over to a fancy restaurant to see what people were eating, but none of it was good. I mean, those fershlugginer cretins were eating _snails!_ And frog legs and baby tadpoles! And _sheep insides!_ So I headed for the classics: fast food.

Since there was a huge plastic burger outside this little place called "MacDonald's", I decided to try my luck there. Earlier I would have wondered why it wasn't crammed with ducks, but after seeing those des_th_PICable facsimiles at the zoo I knew better.

After tapping the burger to make sure it wasn't real (you never knew), I headed around the back of the place with the outdoor lunchers. I didn't really have money and I didn't feel much like going inside, so I got my food the alley-cat way: casually. I sidled up behind a lady with a _huge_ cowlick and studied her food. Green salad with little red things in it. _Yecch_. Ooh, but she had a _milkshake_—chocolate, too. So as soon as she looked away, I swiped the shake and continued past her, amiably and innocently. I got someone else's straw in a similar manner and started drinking. Not as good as the ones back home—I slapped myself with the non-milkshake-holding hand—as the ones back in Toontown, but acceptable. When the shake was done, I threw it out and picked up a packet of french fries, over-salted greasy little things that more resembled giant maggots than anything made from a potato. But I ate them.

All progressed smoothly until I went for the double-decker cheeseburger. I looked around—no one in the vicinity—and picked it up. But just as I was about to take a bite, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I glanced up.

My first impulse was that one of the cross-dressing gorillas had followed me from Toontown, but that thought was quickly shot down; not only did toons never leave the place (as mentioned before), but no _toon_ gorilla was _that_ ugly. After a while staring, I finally figured out that this gigantic lump of—of whatever was female, that she had an adequate head of hair and that this was her lunch I was taking. Before she-it could start speaking, I cut her off in an attempt at flattery.

"Oh, congratu-_lations_, ma'am!" I cried out, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "Ah, I see _new life_ is on the way, ho ho ho, so tell me, is it going to be a boy or a girl? When do you think your child will show up? Is—"

Her beady eyes narrowed even further. "I'm not pregnant," she hissed. "I'm not even planning on it!"

This sent my entire insides into a jumble. "But you _must_ be," I persisted. "No one gets _that_ big unless either there's a kid coming or they're some kind of hippopotamus!"

The lady grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and hauled me bodily to her eye level. For the first time in my life I felt the first twinges of what might be called fear. "Listen, kid," she growled, spattering me with more spit than I've even seen in a conversation with Sylvester the Cat, "Normally I go easy on little nerds like you with their funny clothes and who talk like they're lunatics. But _you_—you had the _gall_ to steal _my food_, and not even _return_ it when I _caught_ you! Then _insults_, and all _this_...You know what I'm going to do to you, you snot-nosed little—"

She didn't get to finish because right at that moment she gave a small yelp and dropped me. My head smacked the table hard, and I couldn't see straight. What I did hear, though, was the crying out of the gorilla woman and a little voice calling into my ear. "C'mon, kid! We have to go!"

I was so dazed I didn't even question the voice, so I started to walk. I was so jittery, though, that I just hobbled around and crashed into people. Then I heard the voice again. "Hoo boy, this's gonna be tough—why'd you have to get involved in this?" I started to answer, but the voice stopped me. "Never mind, there's no time. Let's move!"

I felt a tiny hand grab my right index finger and pull. I went along as fast as I could manage, and squinted. I couldn't tell much of my mystery voice's appearance, but at regular intervals I did see a green speck jumping slightly ahead of my outstretched finger.

Within minutes I was in another back alley, this one slightly cleaner than my home of last night. Putting a hand to my head and groaning, confused thoughts dashed around my brain. What had happened just now? I had hit a table and not gone through it or bounced back up. I'd just _stopped_, and...this wasn't like smacking into the wall at Roger's house. I didn't feel good. I didn't feel...right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny movement and remembered my unknown helper. He—or she, or it—was trying to get away. I shot out my hand and caught whoever or whatever it was. It struggled and squirmed, but couldn't get loose. I held my fist up to my face and waited until my eyes refocused. And when I saw the bearer of my mystery voice, my insides jumped.

Toontown _had_ sent someone after me.

**S**

"Jiminy Cricket!" I cried aloud. "And what in the names of the seven dwarves are _you_ doing here? How'd you _get_ here in the first place? Toons are scared to _death _of hopping the border!"

Still in my grip, Jiminy straightened his top hat and answered, "I'm watching over you. I was going to try and convince you not to leave, but when you looked intent upon crossing I jumped in your pocket. I must confess, I almost gave myself away when you started singing. _When you wish upon a star_..."

Jiminy had been in my pocket all along. Suddenly everything became clearer. "So _you _were the one poking me this morning!"

"Yes, I was," Jiminy admitted, "but only because I saw the policeman and tried to get you away before he found he found you. Then I tried to keep you from provoking him."

"The quivering suspender."

"That's correct!" he commended. "Several times you almost caught me—like when you shoved that map right on top of me—but you never found out I was there."

"Until now." Jiminy struggled hopefully, but I didn't let go. "Why'd you reveal yourself right now, if you were so keen to make sure that I never knew you were there?"

He pointed his umbrella at me accusingly. "Because you went and put yourself in danger." He paused, and added, "And I promised your father that I'd keep you safe."

My grip tightened even though I wanted dearly to let him go. "What father?" I whispered. "I don't have one anymore. Unless you've forgotten." My sight was blurred again, but this time not by a table on the head. "Besides, he almost definitely hates me now. I can't go back."

I couldn't see very well, but I believe Jiminy's expression was one of pity. "No he doesn't, Screw," he explained quietly. "Right now all he hates is himself for not telling you the truth before. You should have seen him after you ran off, he was so broken up. He couldn't even form any coherent sentences. I tell you, he would have dashed straight after you if he hadn't been so shocked and grief-ridden at your parting words."

My throat was closing up, and I had to speak very softly. "But you can't know what it's _like_. Out of the blue, suddenly telling me I wasn't a toon after years of thinking otherwise? I'm not _like_ you. I—I get older. I can't be around forever. I'm no toon. Someday I'll probably be gone if I _keep_ getting older."

Jiminy's eyes softened. "None of us can imagine how it must have felt. I myself might have done the same thing at your age." He paused, and beckoned to me. "Now come with me. I can show you the way back."

My mouth began to form an answer, but I shut it and gave another one. "No. I'm not going."

Jiminy blinked with surprise. "What?"

"Head home now, with my tail between my legs?" I demanded. "What would you think of _that_?"

"Well, I'd begin by stating that you _have_ no tail to tuck between—"

"That's not the point!" I shouted so loudly Jiminy had to use one hand to keep his hat on. I was bristling, yelling things I wasn't sure my heart believed. "After all this, just head back and act _normal_, running home like a coward? I have _pride!_"

The cricket jammed on his top hat with rather more force than would normally be necessary. I'd never seen him this angry before, with a glare as hard as a five-hundred-ton weight. "I'd judge that the true cowardice in this situation would lie with your staying here," Jiminy informed me icily. "It takes real courage to return and admit that you were wrong. As for pride—pah! It's a silly concept." He stared at me so intently that I had to look away. "I used to think you were a smart kid, but I see now that I was wrong."

Part of me knew he was right and felt guilty, but the stronger half hated his words. While he glared, I put him down, picked up a trash can, dumped out the contents and overturned it on Jiminy in one fluid moment, trapping him. Of course he started banging on it from the inside, but I didn't let him out. "Don't even try," I warned as coldly as his last remarks. "It's a lot bigger than you can handle, especially here. I'll be my _own_ conscience, thank you, Mr. Cricket."

At that I left with a heavy walk. But not before I heard Jiminy call out to me, "Roger loves you, Screwball, whatever you care to think!"

**i**

I was so riled up from my talk with Jiminy that I couldn't cool myself down. Even at that distance from him, smoke was pouring out of my red-hot ears. I was as mad as—as—Hägar the Horrible on a diet! So I decided to try to walk it off. I scanned the streets looking for a sign, any sort of sign. Finally one caught my eye: "Borders". Borders. That's what I needed, an answer to why there was such a big one between the toons and this world. Maybe I'd find it here.

Pushing open the door, I did a double-take. The place was _gigantic_, but that wasn't what bothered me. What _did_ was that this place was filled from top-to-bottom with _books_. And none of them seemed to be about any kind of border. I rolled my eyes. Name a store after something it _sells_, why don't ya'. Nevertheless, I walked straight in and wandered around a bit.

Near the back of the store was a display of quote-unquote "really good books". None of them looked very interesting, except for one beat-up little paperback with yellowing pages. _The Little Prince_, by Antoine de St-Exupéry. I pulled it off the shelf, flipped to a random point and started reading.

" '_I should have judged her according to her actions, not her words_._ She perfumed my planet and lit up my life_._ I should never have run away!' "_

_That's right_...I thought._ He did mean well, and I was so fortunate to be with him_..._He did absolutely light up my life_...

" '_I ought to have realized the tenderness underlying her silly pretentions! But I was too young to know how to love her_._' "_

Suddenly aware of what I was doing, I closed the book with a violent snap. My insides were in utter turmoil. It almost seemed like the book _itself_ had shown me that passage, like books in Toontown. But for what reason? What did it want me to know? Cautiously, I opened the book again and read.

" '_One sees clearly only with the heart_._ Anything essential is invisible to the eyes_._' "_

For a moment I didn't know what to think. Then with a "hmph" I threw the book back on the rack. "Junk."

Suddenly I spotted a flight of stairs leading upwards, and ascended them. On this floor was more than books, there were all sorts of video and music. Still no sign of anything about borders, which was a little annoying.

I would have moseyed around doing nothing if I hadn't seen a familiar face staring at me from the comics section. My heart skipped a beat until I realized it was only a book. I ventured over and looked at it: _Walt Disney's The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck_ by Don Rosa. Sure enough, there was miserly Unca Scrooge handing me a piercing glare from the cover. I was amazed. Reading through random parts, I saw that there was some truth in this story but that the setting was pure hogwash. I mean, who's ever heard of a place called "Scotland"? And sure, Toontown is huge and contains several different story settings, but the vast spaces Unca Scrooge travels across was simply _ridiculous!_ And all these stories seemed just a little fanciful. Plus, this "Duckburg". Toontown never segregated people like that! Obviously whoever had written this knew some basic facts, but not quite enough to write a credible account. I was about to turn around and ask someone where this "Don" person got his crazy information when—

"P-p-p-_pleeeeease_, Eddie!"

I stiffened and turned slowly. I knew that voice, known it for as long as I could remember. But I didn't know if I'd like it better if Roger was there or not. But when I looked around, I saw only humans in the shop. But the voice didn't stop.

"Eddie, what're we gonna _do?_"

A gruff voice answered. "What's all this '_we_' stuff?" A pause. "They just want the _rabbit_."

Heart pounding, I tiptoed around the area, trying to find out where these voices were coming from. I heard gunshots and, barely even breathing, followed the sound. A lot more talking went on before I found the source: a TV set in the corner. I stared. On the screen was a non-toon guy with a sort of a round shape standing with his arm in a full sink. He was being interrogated at gunpoint by a toon weasel. The human (the gruff voice) shoved a bar of soap in the weasel's mouth. Where was Roger?

Motioning to a whole host of weasel cronies, the head weasel left with a shout of "As for you, Valiant, step out of line and we'll hang you _and_ your laundry out to dry!" Then once the weasels were gone, the gruff-voiced guy pulled his arm out of the sink and—and handcuffed to that arm was my pop. He was sopping wet, gasping for breath and had to wring his ears out, but...it was still _him_, down to the red trousers and polka-dotted bowtie.

"Eddie," he bubbled, "You saved my life! How can I ever _repay_ you?"

He then planted a big smacker straight on this "Eddie" guy, who had to force him off, wiping his lips. "For starters, don't you _ever_ kiss me again!" he threatened.

My face was completely colorless and I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen. A woman with frizzy black hair came up behind me and glanced at the TV set. I was hardly aware of her. Then she remarked, "Oh yeah, that's that movie with Bob Hoskins...that's right, _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_. Classic." She gave me a once-over. "Hey, those look like Roger Rabbit's pants, same suspenders—neat, they even have the green patch on the back where his tail sticks out! Wild! Where'd you get 'em? Do you like Roger Rabbit?"

I stared at her speechlessly, and ran before my throat fully cut off my air supply. Almost without thinking, I grabbed one of the _Roger Rabbit_ videos as I passed. I had to get _out_ of there.

Picking up a copy of both _The Little Prince_ and _The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck_, I bolted to the door out of there. I wasn't even outside when another siren noise started up. Panicking, I looked around to see what was going on, but I couldn't see anything that might elicit police involvement. However, my first lesson from my days when I was just earning the name Screwball: when in doubt, _run_.

I was about halfway down the street when a cop burst out of the door I'd just exited and followed me down the street, yelling, "Thief! Stop!" _"Thief"?_ All I'd done was walk out with a couple of books and stuff without handing over any cash, not even on _purpose_. I would've paid them later if I could remember about it. I might have stopped and given the cop the stuff, but I was born and raised as an Alley Cat so my feet kept on running.

I rounded a corner and bumped into a whole squadron of officers. One of them was the guy from this morning, who shouted, "There she is! The back-alley stray runaway kid!"

I made an attempt to double back, but the rest of the cops formed a circle around me. "She let the animals out of the zoo!" they yelled to each other. "Arrest her before she gets away!"

"She's a thief! She's a thief!"

Once again I felt the same sort of fear that I had at the fast-food place. At Toontown, only about one officer would ever go after you. I could never outsmart _twenty_, especially not here. Not in _this _world.

I hyperventilated, clutching my prizes against my chest. Jiminy was right, I put myself in danger here enough to need an out-of-body conscience. But I had trapped Jiminy under a trash can. What was I going to do now? In desperation I glanced to every side, but the officers were closing in. Nobody but _nobody_ ever got caught by a cop, and the cops themselves weren't usually sure what they would do if they actually _did_ get someone. Except for these guys, and I didn't think I'd like what would happen if they got _me_.

_The only way out is _up.

Taking a deep breath, I squatted hard as far down as I could go. The policemen must've taken it as a sign of weakness, because they started rushing up around me. I breathed in a lot of air. _3...2...1..._

I let go of the squat and shot twenty feet straight up in the air. At first I was dismayed by the embarrassingly small amount of altitude, but calmed myself by angling my descent so I landed well outside the ring of cops. My legs were spinning even before I hit the ground, and took off so fast even Speedy Gonzales and the Roadrunner would be proud. To be sure, I was utterly panicked. _Get out of here. Go. Get away. RUN._

I circumvented alleys. I jumped on rooftops. I jumped on cars. I jumped on _moving_ cars. I probably didn't even notice at the point when I lost my pursuers, I was just so wildly desperate to get away. Finally, when I was looking over my shoulder to see if I was still being followed, I smashed into someone else. At that particular moment, I didn't take in much more than the fact that he as well as six huge, strong-looking men were all wearing jet-black suits with mirrored sunglasses—I was too busy trying to pick up my scattered stuff before the cops got me. None of them made any motion to help, but rather just stood there like they were impatient for me to leave.

After I had salvaged _The Little Prince_ from a position dangerously close to the gutter, I hurriedly looked up. But something struck me, and I couldn't look away. The guy I'd bumped into, the one slightly smaller and thinner than the six surrounding men, looked familiar. Even with the mirrored sunglasses, I felt I knew that face from somewhere; the cut of his chin, his complexion, even his ears looked like someone I thought I knew. Was it Montana Max, the spoiled kid I avoided at school? Or maybe it was Rock Bottom, or Fred Flintstone. Or maybe—

I stopped short. Suddenly I realized whose face it was that his reminded me of. Mine. _My_ face.

Lifting a quivering finger, I croaked, "You—you're my _father!_"

**g**

The guy whipped off his sunglasses and stared at me with steely dark eyes. "What?"

"You're my father!" I cried out, gaining confidence. "You have to be, we look so much alike!"

"That is true, sir," offered one of the big guys. "Your hair is darker and your nose is larger, bu—"

Father cut him off with a venomous glance before turning coolly back to me. "I don't _have_ a daughter," he said roughly. "I was never married."

"What about the stork, then?" I offered. "That story is a bit more socially accepted around the town, so if you had placed an order—"

"I _told_ you!" he snapped. "I have no children!"

Still I persisted. "But _look_ at us! Is there any way we could look _that much alike_ and _not_ be related?"

A couple of big guys moved to shield Father. "Look, kid," one barked, "do you know who you're talking to?"

"My _father_."

The huge man hoisted me up by the collar. "That's Randall MacPharson, owner of the Znieh Ketchup empire!" he snarled. "He's worth more millions than your unworthy little fingers can _count!_" He dropped me, but I was so close to the surface that I landed on my feet anyway. I was a little shaken, but I stood my ground and didn't move.

Another big guy whistled in irritation. "We don't have time for this, Mr. MacPharson. You need to prepare your speech for the presentation tonight."

"I _know_ that, moron!" Father snapped, and the man recoiled. Then Father turned his icy stare back to me. "What's your name, kid? I want to make sure I don't answer any letters from you."

He was _talking_ to me! My father had asked me for my _name!_ "Screwball Rab—" I started, then cut myself off. "Screwball MacPhar—" I stopped again. My heart hurt, and I didn't know which last name to give. I compromised. "Just Screwball, Father."

"Screwball," he repeated. He made a noise that could either have been either laughter or contempt. Then he turned back to the six big men. "Now, who did I hire to organize Forbes Hall for my career-making presentation?"

"Well—" a big guy started, then with a sharp glance at me asked, "Sir, is it really wise to discuss this sort of thing in front of this girl?"

Father shot him a look and said almost mock-pleasantly, "No, it is not, Mortimer. Very clever of you to notice. So clever, in fact, I'd suggest you not bring up _important_ matters in front of _unimportant_ people in the _future_. You hear that, Mortimer?" He flashed a grin as fake as Dagwood's excuses for midnight snacks.

This Mortimer fellow seemed just as confused as I was. "But sir," he stammered, "you—you're the one who started—"

Father was on him quick like a Beagle Boy's getaway, wrapping his hands around Mortimer's throat and squeezing gently. "Well, Mortimer. I have a question for you," he hissed, tightening his fingers digit by digit. "Who's the boss?"

Mortimer gasped and sputtered. "Y-y-you are, sir..."

"That's right," continued Father, his false smile hardening almost frightfully. "And let me tell you something you'll need to know to _survive_ in this line of work, Mortimer: The boss is _always_ right."

Mortimer's face was turning _blue_—a wimpy shade of blue, but blue nonetheless. He just nodded, and even _that_ looked like it took a lot of effort.

"Good," said Father, and let go of Mortimer. Mortimer gasped for breath and rubbed his neck, wheezing. No one seemed to remember that I was there. With a needling glance at Mortimer, Father donned his mirrored sunglasses and swept out without a word, all six men trailing behind. I was stunned speechless—at what I didn't know, or couldn't decide. But I had _found my father!_ Evening at Forbes Hall...

I turned around and found myself staring right at an unhappy Jiminy Cricket. "I know what you're planning, and don't do it."

I greeted him with slightly more astonishment than anger. _Slightly_. "I trapped you under a garbage can," I accused. "How'd you get out and _find_ me?"

He glared at me, brushing dirt off himself—this had not real point, as he was sitting in a window flowerbox. "It's amazing what people will do for you if you just...give a little whistle," he remarked indifferently. "As for finding _you_, all I had to do was find the _center_ of trouble." Jiminy paused. "There's quite a lot in this world, but I'll say _yours_ was the worst mess I've _ever_ seen."

"_Thanks_." My excitement soon overpowered any remaining ill-feeling towards him. "Jiminy, I found my _father!_ Isn't it _awesome!_"

Jiminy crossed his arms. "You had a father _before_, and his name was 'Rabbit', not 'MacPharson'. Don't get involved with that man."

My temper rose. "Why not? _He's_—_my_—_FATHER!_"

"By blood, perhaps," he agreed icily, "but not by frame of mind. He's about as interested in you as a vegetarian is interested in _roadkill_. If you want parental love, go back home."

"What do you _mean?_" I exploded. "He's my _father_, of _course_ he's _interested!_"

Finally Jiminy lost it. "Are you _blind!_" he shouted. "That man wouldn't care for you if you shared a house for the _rest_ of _eternity!_ Did you see, he would have _kept_ choking that other man! I've learned that in this world, things can happen to you that would never happen in Toontown. People from this world can be _hurt_ in this world. That's only _begun_ working on you. And from the hurt, they can feel so bad that sometimes they _die!_ Do you know what death is? It's when people from this world stop moving. It's when you _lose_ your _LIFE!_"

I had never seen Jiminy act so hysterical. And he didn't stop. "There's another thing in this world called _murder_, where one person _intentionally_ inflicts death upon _another!_ Can you _comprehend_ that? Your precious 'Father' almost stole that man's ability to breathe. He almost committed _MURDER!_"

As I think back on it now, I suppose I _couldn't_ comprehend the concept Jiminy was trying to make me understand. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't have answered, "I could change him if you gave me the chance! I know because I'm his _daughter!_"

"So you keep asserting, but that is no kind of excuse!" he shot back. "It's always been my belief that children have some sort of blind spot where their parents are concerned. When you were with Roger, you had no _need_ of that blind spot because he truly _was_ the best father for you. But this man—your blind spot must stretch across his entire _character!_ Do you actually realize what you've _thrown away_ for this _monster!_" When I started lividly advancing on him, he cried, "Oh, I don't think I'll be trapped by you _again_, missy! Go on, trade in the proverbial Utopia for a hard, cold life, see if I care! If you simply _refuse_ to see, I suppose your own folly will just have to be _crammed_ into you!" With that he opened his umbrella and disappeared.

For a while I just stood there, then I clenched my fists. "I'll prove you wrong, Jiminy Cricket!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "Father will accept me, and I'll start my new life _far away_ from all you stinking toons!"

**h**

A newspaper I found lying on the pavement informed me that "Randall MacPharson's multi-million-dollar presentation was being held at six PM at the Forbes Hall I'd heard of, so I knew I had to get ready before then. Scrounging around town, I found a black tuxedo that was worn at the elbows and much too big, as well as a pair of funny glasses that had a fake nose and mustache as well as eyebrows. Using a lot of patience, I managed to fit them exactly over my glasses so that the mustache glasses came off when I took off my real glasses. I also found a red bowtie, a little darker color than my trousers. Not only would my amazing dress sense wow my father, it might also disguise me enough that the police couldn't find me! (It wasn't until later that I learned that, in this world, it's not supposed to work like that, but it achieved that specific purpose anyway and was a lot of fun at any rate.) I also picked up a few more odds 'n' ends that could be useful in my plan, and stored the smaller ones in my pocket along with my bookstore treasures.

At exactly five-fifty-five that night I was outside Forbes Hall. It was semi-dark and not too cloudy. I checked the building. The entire complex was huge but thankfully isolated, meaning that there were quite a few back alleys at my disposal. It had been trouble finding this place, since no one seemed to know where the Hall _was_. That might have been explainable, since "Forbes Hall" was actually about a town or so over. Man, I hadn't thought that there was even _more_ of this place! I mean, _two towns_ for _one world!_ It was like _Christmas_...except without the tree and the singing and the presents and all that.

It seemed like everyone else was inside, so I checked my jacket, straightened my bowtie and almost literally waltzed up to the front door. As I was about to turn the knob, a new big guy in a suit with mirrored sunglasses barred my way. "Hey, you can't go in there!" he protested.

I blinked and stared up at him. The effect might have been dulled a little by the funny glasses. "Why not?"

"Because this is a private meeting!" he barked. "And besides, no _kids_ were invited!"

"But my father's in there!" I insisted.

He eyed me suspiciously. "...Your name isn't 'Screwball', by any chance, is it?"

"Actually, it is!" I beamed. "Can I see my father?"

The man sighed. "I was warned about you. Just stay out if you know what's good for ya', kid. 'Cause I certainly won't let you in."

This apparently called for a little persuasion. I scrunched up my eyes and concentrated hard, and pretty soon a thought balloon popped out of my head with a wad of money in it. Pulling out the money, I offered it to the big guy. "Will you let me in now?"

The guy looked at me funny and didn't move to accept it. "Did you just do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

He sighed. "Never mind," he grumbled, but he refused to take the money. I tried a little more pointless arguing before I gave up. People here were a lot more stubborn than I was used to. Eventually I snuck around back to find another way in, and found all the windows barred. I scoffed. Who did these people think they were gonna keep out with _those_ silly things? After a few twists and turns I wriggled myself through and dropped into a bathroom.

It was a lot bigger, a lot emptier and a lot dirtier than most facilities I'd seen. It was also _weird_ too. There were these things on the wall by the sinks that I'd never seen anything like. I mean, they were shaped a little like sinks, but had no faucets or anything. How did they work, and what were they even _for_ anyway? I figured that I didn't have enough time to find out, so I just checked the time. Six-fifteen. I was _late_.

As I left the bathroom, something on a sign caught my eye. I gasped, then turned as red as my bowtie. _I had been in the _MEN'S_ bathroom!_

Needless to say, I closed the door and got out of there quickly.

I could tell by the sounds of the voices that the presentation-thing was in the gigantic room with the double-doors. But also in front of the double-doors were double-big guys, looking mean and, yet again, wearing a suit and mirrored sunglasses. I heaved a sigh. How many people _were_ there conspiring to keep me away from Father? I didn't want to waste my time trying to reason with them, so I looked for windows into the room: none. So I used the next best thing—the ventilation shafts.

Removing the grate from a nearby wall (conveniently out of sight of the big guys), I climbed in and went straight up. It was an even tighter fit than the windows, and I had to push some of my extra materials ahead of me as I climbed. I hadn't seen any adjoining shafts yet.

At length a crumpled piece of paper landed on my nose from somewhere higher up in the shaft. Contorting so that I could hold up my other stuff while also not falling back down the shaft, I opened it up and read it.

"_You have one last chance to turn around and go back. Just know I won't be able to help."_

Reading the message, I fumed. _Cricket!_ But at least he was giving me a chance to do what _I_ wanted. I folded it up again and, for lack of anywhere else, I stuck it in my pocket. Hearing a slight _poof_ above me, I knew Jiminy had disappeared again. It felt oddly empty without him.

It took only a few more minutes for me to crawl through the shaft branching over the presentation room until finally I found the ceiling grate and looked down through the slits. Sure enough, Father was down there saying something about ketchup and money and something called "enzymes" and "lycopene", but I didn't care. How much happier he would be when he could finally admit that I was _his_ daughter!

Very quietly I loosened the screws in the grate—not removed, just loosened. Then, equally quietly, I set up a phonograph from the various parts I'd been able to get my hands on and put the record in, but didn't start it; not yet. I checked my other stuff and positioned it all as well as I could for how I'd need it. Then, at the correct pause in the dialogue, I hefted the needle, kicked out the grate and descended.

You never saw a more dramatic entrance to the tune of "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down". In the middle of free-fall I pulled out a collapsible pogo stick and angled it so I bounced when I hit the floor. The impact made me sort of jittery, but I hid it. I went for a few more bounces then jumped off, leaving the stick to keep bouncing under its own momentum. Then I turned and surveyed my audience.

At first I was worried that I'd made a mistake and landed in one of those "somethings-anonymous" clubs, because absolutely _every single person_ in the room was black suit-mirrored sunglasses. But they were all men, and mostly kinda littler guys. Directly behind me was Father, along with three guys standing in front of some kind of colorful chart. I grinned. "Hiya hiya hiya, you're a wonderful-lookin' audience, it's a pleasure to be here!" I glowed.

Walking down the aisle between the two groups of seated guys, I forcibly shook hands with everyone I could reach. "And thank you, and thank you, and thank _you_..." I went on and on. Eventually I made my way to the back of the room, where I straightened proudly and shouted, "My name is Screwball and that up there is my father!"

I had expected thunderous applause and maybe even some happy crying from Father, but got neither. Father from the front of the room just shouted back, "I told you before, I'm not your _father_, brat!"

"You are! You _are!_" I asserted. The record was still playing faintly in the background. "I don't care _if_ you were never married! I am _still_ your daughter!"

Surprised and maybe not-so-happy murmurs rustled through the crowd. Father shouted even louder and began moving down the aisle at me. "Are you accusing me of _illegitimacy!_"

I was bewildered. "Of course not!" I protested. "I'm _sure_ you can read." A few faint, uncertain laughs from the audience. I didn't understand why. "I'm just saying that I'm your daughter and you're my _father_. Isn't that sort of thing _reasonable_ when it's _true?_"

The crowd whispered among themselves while Father shot glances between them and me. Then everyone else nodded and stood. "Mr. MacPharson," said one, "we've come to a consensus. We have unanimously decided that if you can't be trusted to stick to matrimony to have a child, then you don't deserve a billion-dollar investment." With that they all filed out the double-doors.

"Gentlemen!" Father cried. "Gentlemen, please! Come back! This is all a mistake!"

But his words couldn't bring them back.

When the doors closed with a final click, he turned to me with eyes that could have shot daggers. "YOU—" he hissed, with so much malice and rage in his voice that fear set in all over again. "YOU—" I dodged and ran before he could choke me the way he had Mortimer. He lunged at me, and I scrambled madly away.

"_Why_, Father, _Why?_" I asked pleadingly.

There could be no talking rationally to him now. His face was red and pulled taut, his eyes a window into uncontrollable loathing. "YOU COST ME A BILLION DOLLARS!" Father screamed. "I HAD THE PERFECT DEAL ALL SET UP. THEY WERE READY TO PAY ME _TWICE_ THE AMOUNT I'D ASKED. _AND _YOU _CAME ALONG AND _RUINED_ IT!_"

The big guys must have been attracted by all the noise, because about fifteen of them burst into the room. "HOLD—HER—DOWN!" Father shouted. They obeyed, moving quicker than I could even see and pinning my arms to my sides. They made a half-circle in back of me with Father at my front. He picked up a bottle of ketchup and threw it at me, catching me on the head. A lance of—of something struck through me, and I winced. Father bent down and started talking, seeing no one but me. "Illegitimacy? Oh, very possible. I've 'banged' a few girls in my lifetime, _especially _at sixteen. Oh, those were good years. But look what they must have brought forth."

Father signaled to one of the big guys restraining me, and the man twisted my arm in a way I don't think limbs were supposed to be bent. "I should have known you were a _bastard_ since the moment you told me your name," Father hissed. He gave a morbid chuckle. " 'Screwball'. Only a homeless, soulless _tramp_ would name their kid 'Screwball'."

In a lightning flash I had slipped through the guards and barreled at Father, jumping on him. I had my hands around _his_ throat now, madder than I'd ever been in my life. Madder than when I was told I wasn't a toon...madder than when the kid was taunting Robert...madder than when Jiminy had forbidden me to come here. "ROGER WAS NO TRAMP!" I howled. "HE WAS A BETTER FATHER THAN _YOU_ COULD _EVER_ BE!"

I throttled him, feeling the air squeeze out of his throat in short, painful gasps. I didn't _care_ that he was my father. I didn't _care_ that I was half of him and half of something else. He could not live after what he had just said.

I would have killed him if a big guy hadn't whacked me on the head from behind. I let go of "Father"s neck and cried out, holding my temples. About then Father got his wind and pulled his fist back, then let loose with a punch that caught me full on the nose. I watched in confusion and horror as red stuff spurted out of my nose. It touched my hand and I felt wet. What _was_ this? Had some ketchup gotten stuck in my nose? ...No. The stuff was coming from _me_.

After that I didn't even have a semblance of a chance. All of them went in at once, wailing on me with fists and boots and any appendage that could inflict damage. I couldn't escape, and I couldn't fight back. I'd been slapped flat by ironing boards and had anvils dropped on my head, but nothing had _ever_ been so bad as _this_. If this was close to "death", I never wanted to feel it again.

It seemed to take them forever to stop. The flow of red had ended, but I couldn't move without wanting to scream. Father just gave me a hard kick to the stomach, and I fell to the floor face-down. Then Father inclined his head to the big guys. "Let's go."

Another man spoke. "But sir, what if the police find her and question her? I don't wanna be accused of no _child abuse!_"

Father looked me over. "The police _will_ find her eventually," he sneered, "but who's going to believe her story? She's a _stray_. For all they know, she's been this battered and bruised all her _life_."

In a moment they were all gone. I groaned, tears pricking at my eyes. I wished he'd killed me. But he hadn't; he'd killed something else. My love. If I had experienced this sort of pain at the hands of my own _father_, who could I ever truly give my love to?

**t**

It felt like eternity before I heard another voice: Jiminy's. He hopped in through the double-doors, talking almost amiably. "Well, kid," he declared, "I hope you learned a lesson from all this. You—" Finally he saw me. "Oh my _stars!_" he gasped, running to me. "What _happened?_"

I sat up and began to sob, not with the pain of beatings but with a pain from inside. "He _was_ cruel, Jiminy," I blubbered. "And I almost mur—muh—mur-dered him!" I choked. "You were _right_."

"Isn't it funny how often that happens?" he replied sarcastically, then softened. "Here. Let me see you."

I let him check my bruises and all the other hurts, and I'll admit I might've killed _myself_ if he hadn't been there to help stop the pain. I hiccuped and got myself under control. "Th-thank you."

"I'm sorry I didn't help," he said, genuinely apologetic.

"No, it's all right. I was being stupid, and you had to suffer..."

He replied with silence.

When he'd healed me well enough that I could stand, albeit stiffly, I gave myself a once-over. The funny glasses were smashed and broken, but my real pair seemed mostly fine. The jacket, bowtie and my trousers had been torn and trampled, but as I hurriedly checked my books and video they looked mostly unharmed. Maybe _The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck_ had a new crinkle in its paperback cover, but that was it.

What worried me more was my broken life.

Any opportunity I might have had to forge a new life in this world had been demolished the second that cop had found me this morning and declared me a runaway. From that to the zoo, to the fast food place, to the bookstore, to now...Nothing I did here would have any meaning if I had to keep running my whole life. And with Father, and Pop...I was still a kid, I _needed_ a dad. But I had irreparably broken it off with one and been utterly rejected by the other.

Who would be my father now?

I don't remember what Jiminy said or even what I was _thinking_, but somehow I ended up being led by him outside and through the streets. I didn't notice the cars rushing mutely past, except for shielding Jiminy from them. I was too worried about what I was supposed to do now. What _could_ I do?

Suddenly I was interrupted by an exuberant bellow, and from out of a side alley barreled Robert. I scratched him behind the ears, and suddenly my heart started thumping madly. I put Jiminy down. I don't know how , but I _knew_. Rushing into the alley past Robert, I didn't notice Top Cat with his entire gang. I didn't take in the fact of all my Looniversity pals crowding the sides of the alley. Not even Lola, or Poinsy, or Chip or Dale.

I saw no one but him.

Pop, sitting on the ground, looked up and saw me. He started sniffling confusedly. His ears quivered. "Screwy...?"

I ran straight into his embrace, hugging him as hard as if I'd been away a year. Tears were wet on his fur, but his or mine I couldn't tell.

And suddenly I found it! What I'd been looking for all this time, I'd found right here in his arms.

I'd found "home".

**EPILOGUE**

This morning, like _all_ mornings, I woke up to the clattering of pots and pans down in the kitchen. I smiled. One more day 'till I turned thirteen, but I didn't mind. I already knew what my pals were getting me because of Plucky's inability to keep a secret. Hey, it didn't matter that much what I was getting. All I needed really to survive was friendship, a father and a home.

Heading downstairs to rescue Roger from whatever trouble he was in this morning, I was surprised to find the noise actually coming from Roger at the _oven!_ The clattering was him _cooking_ rather than _tripping!_ The world can be an amazing place...especially the world I love.

Seeing me, Roger turned around. "Good morning, Screwy!" he called cheerfully. "I'm makin' your thirteenth-birthday cake!"

"Morning, Pop," I said, ruffling his hair. I must be the only kid to ever tousle their _father's_ hair rather than vice-versa.

The oven "ding"ed and Roger pulled a towering frosted cake out. It wobbled dangerously from side to side, but with my help he set it on the counter. Roger sighed, put away all the bowls and gave me a questioning look. I shook my head, so with a gleeful smile he picked up his stirring spoon and licked it clean. Not being overly-fond of cake in the morning I picked up a banana, squeezing the fruit out of the skin and into my mouth. I made sure to throw out the peel before Pop slipped on it.

Roger took two cups of hot chocolate off the stove and passed one to me, sitting down with the other cup in front of him. I pulled up a chair too and started swigging cocoa fast enough to make steam gush out of my ears. Uncharacteristically, Roger just sat with his, idly stirring it with his finger. Then he looked up, a serious expression on his face. "Screwy," he announced, "I have something to say. ...Ever since what happened last year, I p-p-p-promised myself to never keep a secret from you to the last minute. So I need to tell you this now." He took in a deep breath. "I'm going to get married."

Spit-take, stage right. "No way, Pop!" I cried. "Really? Who is it?"

He fiddled with his gloves and turned red, but he still wore a silly grin. "Jessica."

_Jessica_. A top-heavy hourglass with a waist thinner than a paperclip, but who seemed nice enough personality-wise. Not my absolute favorite of Toontown's eligible women, but... "That's awesome, Pop," I replied. "If you love her, that's good enough for me." I had an idea. "When's the wedding?"

Roger was blushing up to the tips of his rabbity ears now. "Day after tomorrow. We're announcing it during your p-p-p-party."

I pulled an item out of my trouser pocket that had been there now for two days shy of a year. The _Scrooge McDuck_ book I had given long ago to Unca Scrooge himself—he was delighted and thanked me many times, especially since he'd gotten it _free_—and _The Little Prince_ was currently circulating the Toontown residents via the public library, but _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ I had kept to myself for a private watching. I would have given it to Roger before if I hadn't wanted to see if Roger would _naturally_ fall in love with Jessica. Well, he had, so now was the time to give it to him.

"Ooh, what's this?" Pop inquired when I handed it to him. He held it up at every possible angle and inspected every minute detail. "Hey, that's me!" he cried. "And that's—"

I snatched it back before he could read the review on the back. "It's a wedding present, but you can't watch it until at least your honeymoon."

"Oh wow, jeepers!" he shouted, jumping up from the table. "The _honeymoon?_ I'm still planning the _reception!_ What if Jessica doesn't like it? What if she—"

I stopped him with a pat on the back. "Pop, if she loves you anything like I do, she'll enjoy them just because _you_ planned them."

Roger rubbed his eyes with his palm and smiled. "Thanks, Screwy."

So now after all that hassle for a father, I was about to have a mother. And no matter how un-maternal Jessica might be, I'll love her with the strength of the selfsame love I've received from my pop, my old mentor, Jiminy and my pals.

And how much more love could they have shown than by reaching for me past the biggest border of all?

**AFTERWORD**

All humans from this world someday grow old and die. That's what Jiminy Cricket taught me, and as much as anyone tried to deny it, I was no exception. It was another April first, and I just having celebrated the year ninety-eight. Roger was with me to the end, and all the toons mourned my passing. None of them have yet ever aged a day.

In Toontown there is now a unanimous holiday on that date, where everyone dons a pair of red overalls in commemoration. Parties are held in varying locations, depending on who knew me and when. I even seem to have wormed my way into the Looniversity history books. As Lola would say, it was a toon first.

Nowadays, people outside Toontown don't believe in the true existence of toons. But if you can find and cross the border, there's another location you'll want to visit: the Toontown cemetery. There has only ever been and only ever will be one grave there. Roger composed the message, and all the rest of the town agreed to it.

"_Here Lies Screwball Rabbit, The Only True Toon Whose Heart Ever Stopped Beating."_

—END—


End file.
